Braille
by SorryxSorry
Summary: From then on it was turnpentine and patches. A Haley with a little Naley oneshot songfic.


**Disclaimer: **I don't own the show or the song.

**Song used: **"Braille" by Regina Spektor

**Summary: **This is another AU songfic, this one follow Haley through her pregnancy and life afterward. In this story Naley are NOT married, just together. This story isn't exactly a Naley fic; it's more of a Haley fic with some Nathan thrown in. And it's not exactly happy in a typical fairy tale way. But I hope it's enjoyed by everyone anyway!

Reviews are, as always, appreciated.

_She was lying on the floor and counting stretch marks_

_She hadn't been a virgin and he hadn't been a god_

She was on her back on the hard linoleum floor, her blue eyes clouded and sad. Her delicate fingers traced over the deep lines on her rather large stomach. Seven months in and still she found it difficult to believe she was pregnant. A sigh escaped her as she dropped her head back to stare at the ceiling. She supposed she would never forget the day she had told him the news. He had been going on about the good news, about his scholarship, and it had just slipped out. His reaction had been much worse than she had expected; he had stormed out the door in anger as thought it were all _her_ fault that there was a child growing inside of her. Thankfully, later that evening, he came to his senses and promised to be there for her. And it wasn't exactly perfect- they weren't an old married couple with the money and resources for a child, but they were in love, and that was good enough for her.

_So she named the baby Elvis_

_To make up for the royalty he lacked_

And even though she was okay with the fact that their life was far from perfect, she tried her hardest to make it better. A few weeks after she had discovered the baby was a boy, they had sat at the park eating frozen yogurt and discussing names. His suggestions were all anyone could expect from a teenage boy- "Nathan Jr." or "Nathaniel II", but she had a different spin on the child's title. She wanted something to represent everything he _wouldn't_ have so long as he was their child. She wanted a name that people could identify with money, fame, and happiness. And when she had suggested the name, his eyes had lit up as thought it were so perfect he couldn't wrap his head around it. And the next morning she had walked past his old garage to see him building a baby crib, and had laughed when she saw, "Elvis," inscribed in cursive at the top.

_And from then on it was turpentine and patches_

_From then on it was cold Campbell's from the can_

The next few months were hard, and she was the first to admit it. People had always told her that children were expensive and she had brushed the thought off because she couldn't quite see how something to tiny could cost so much. But only a few months in the prices of the doctor visits were adding up and she still was looking at baby carriers and car seats and blankets and clothes and bottles and food and toys. She was already working double what she'd been working previously, she had gotten a decent raise recently, but she couldn't see how they'd ever survive financially. He was too busy obsessing over the prospect of college basketball to even consider that they might not even be able to go to college. So for eight months straight they lived on water and sunshine, on their love for each other and their child, and on hope that God would come along and bring them a miracle.

_And they were just two jerks playing with matches_

'_Cause that's all they knew how to play_

She was four months pregnant when the first person reminded her how young she was. She didn't need someone barking her age down her ear; she was perfectly aware that she was only eighteen years old and still in high school. From that moment on she heard it all the time- people saying that she was irresponsible, that she should give the baby up because she'd never be able to care for it, telling her that she was too much of a child to actually _have _a child. The words of many didn't faze her; she merely held her head up a little higher. It didn't take a genius to realize she wasn't the best person to have a child right now, but this was what she wanted. It didn't matter that she was young and didn't have money, what mattered was that she loved this child more than air itself and she was prepared to give her entire life to her new bundle of joy. And even though some people call teenage pregnancy a mistake, she was sure that this was the one thing she'd never, ever, regret.

_And it was raining cats and dogs outside of her window and_

_She knew they'd be destined to become sacred road kill on the way_

It was just ten days before her due date. The rain was coming down harder than it had in months. She was staring out the window with unfocused eyes. In a little more than a week she would be a mother. She would have a tiny baby to take care of, to feed and play with. She would have to take weeks off work to be with her child. He would take up her shifts to get the money they needed for diapers and formula. She would be living like a single mother in a small, dingy apartment, with nothing but the sound of a baby screaming keeping her awake. She would be sad and tired and cold, she would get wrinkles and gray hair. And she would fight with him over stupid things like who has to get up in the middle of the night and he would storm out in anger and go to a bar and wallow in self pity and she would be left alone with a child for days feeling like her entire world was shattering. Ten days until the baby came. And for the first time in nine months she was having doubts.

_And she was listening to the sound of heaven shaking_

_Thinking about puddles; puddles and mistakes_

She was shaken out of her stupor at the sound of thunder. She didn't want to believe it was a mistake. She had been telling everyone for months that she was happier than ever, that she could handle anything because she was stronger than any girl her age. And yet here she sat, thinking about how easy life would be if she weren't about to have a child. She wanted to be as happy as she had been when he'd held her hand and told her that he would always be there. And that was when he came in the room again, and wrapped his arms around her in a tight embrace and told her that she was the most beautiful woman in the world and that he was so happy to have a family with her. Her regrets, her fears and her doubts and her insecurities all flew out the window into the pouring rain and that's when she knew she was ready. And he held her hand all the way to the hospital and he rubbed her back and told her he loved her. And a few hours later she was a mother, and she was happier than she ever had been before.

'_Cause it's been turpentine and patches_

_It's been cold, cold Campbell's from the can and_

_They were just two jerks playing with matches_

'_Cause that's all they knew how to play_

_Elvis never could carry a tune_

_She thought about this irony as she stared back at the moon_

_She was tracing her years with her fingers on her skin_

He was seven now. He had his father's dark wavy hair and his mother's big blue eyes. He loved to sing but his voice was shrill and difficult to listen to. And he was a great basketball player but his mother had kept him from playing the game since he had been five years old. She looked much older now; her blonde hair had flecks of gray and wrinkles lined her tired face. She was much thinner than she had been before she'd been pregnant and all her clothes hung loosely on her skin. And she wasn't happy, not one bit happy at all. It showed in her eyes, in the way they were always dark and clouded over. It showed in her walk, in the way she took every step as though it caused her a great deal of pain. It showed in the way she talked, in how she avoided looking in people's eyes and how she bit her lip so often there were deep scars etched there. She was tired and sad and angry. And most of all, she was lonely.

_Saying, "Well, why don't I being again with turpentine and patches?_

_With cold, cold Campbell's from the can?_

She wanted to go back to it. Go back to the time of her life that she had complained about for five straight years to anyone who would listen. The time when she got her clothes from Goodwill and she substituted hand soap for shampoo and she ate about half as many calories as she should've been eating. The time when he would sneak up behind her and wrap his arms around her stomach and whisper sweet nothings in her ear and make her smile and giggle like a little school girl. She missed those days. She missed pretending to be miserable when really she was glowing inside. She missed them more than anything. She missed him more than anything.

_After all I'm still a jerk playing with matches,_

_It's just that he's not around to play along._

She had woken up three days after her son's fifth birthday to find his side of the bed empty. There was a note in his place, scribbled on the back of used sheet of paper in a dull black pen. Her heart had dropped like a stone when she saw the note. Because she _knew_. She knew that he was gone. She knew he had been planning on leaving her for the past five years. She supposed that's why she kept her conversation with him limited. She didn't want to keep falling for him, didn't want their relationship to get stronger, because she knew all along that he wouldn't be around in a few years. His departure hurt her, not because she loved him more than anything or even because she now had to raise a son on her own. It hurt her because three days after her son's fifth birthday she had to sit him down and explain that daddy wouldn't be back for a long time. She had to tell him that it was just the two of them for a long time. She had to scream at him when he picked up a basketball because she couldn't stand the thought of her son growing up like his father. She had to deal with what effect his exit had on her son, on her family. That's why he hurt her. And that was why she cried every time her son asked why he didn't have a father, or when she heard the sound of a ball bouncing, or just laid in bed after a hard day and realized she wasn't happy anymore.

_I'm still an ass hole playing with candles,_

_Blowing out wishes, blowing out dreams._

And for the next eleven years she kept going. She helped her son pick out a nice outfit for his first day of school, she took him to church on Sunday, and she gave him advice on girls. She went to work while he learned at school, she came home and made them a nice dinner together, and she threw him a huge party when he turned ten years old. She helped him with his math homework and save up for a car, and she even wrote him a few pretty tunes to listen to when he was down. She put all her energy and all her joy into her family, just like she always said she would. And even though this family wasn't like she ever expected it to be like, even though it was even further from perfect than she had anticipated, she kept going. Because she knew that life isn't about perfection. She knew that life was about waking up everyday and thinking about the people you love, knew that it was about having the strength to get out of bed and make the best of your day, knew it was about being happy even if you didn't think you ever could. And she knew that she had achieved everything she wanted to in life, even if it wasn't perfect.

_Just sitting here and trying to decipher_

_What's written in Braille upon my skin."_


End file.
